Midnight Games – Madeehah Reza

It’s not that she wasn’t happy for her sister, far from it. Nadia only wished she could hold on to her for a little longer.

COMFORT FOODS // ONE POEM – Dea Guri

my father wanted to recreate the grapes
grow his own over our tiny backyard in the suburbs just outside the city
his vision was three separate plants,
arching and twisting their vines from our neighbor’s garage to ours

ONE POEM – Nicola Maclean

Zones one to three have become a long-distance relationship.
Underground, Hades and his sardine dead
reach their eleventh hour

THREE POEMS – Susan Moon

My mother packed eggs sunny side up,
Spam slices golden-browned to perfection
tucked into my lunchbox.

ONE POEM – Alice Foo

The angel comes unbidden
on a Thursday morning,
knocking briskly, handing me
a pineapple and thirteen coral-tinted roses.

PHOTOGRAPHY: Jessica Swank

Through photography and sculpture, I question how the manipulation of behaviour and patterns dehumanises society.

A Place in the Past – Kirsty Crawford

To see a place, to see all of its contours and edges, its soft shape, you must leave for a while and look at it from the outside, return as someone different, someone older. I grew up on the Isle of Arran and left at seventeen, desperate to move to the city and become someone…

TWO POEMS – Kali Richmond

the diver submerged for so long
we presume her dead
shark food
scattershot of matter sinking deeper than cameras

ART – Geneviève Dumas

Because of the pandemic, we didn’t have any Olympics this summer, so I decided to reproduce the Olympic coverage in July by printing (screen printing) over selected pictures from the Montreal Olympics of 1976

ONE POEM – Gerry Stewart

Spread out before you,
whipped and bright coloured,
dripping with sauces,
a world of unimagined flavours,
untranslatable.

ART: Natalie Bradford

Through countless retrievals, our memories of precious moments lose their ‘truth.’

ONE POEM – Ryan Clark

Below the wall the soil
leeches contaminants
from an artificial hill rising
out of the field like a wart.

ONE POEM – Barnaby Smith

the small hours are all about compost—
wanderlust of priceless larvae
& transcendent effect of unremarkable habits

ONE POEM – Athena Ramos

Around December, our grove
of banana plants grew heavy, saba begging:
to be picked, coated in brown sugar, wrapped
in lumpia wrapper, and fried in sugary oil.

ONE POEM – Kate J Wilson

you said it’s tradition in Spain that as the clock
strikes twelve we must scoff a grape a chime
one at a time, but quickly as any left over become
unsalvageable, each one a rotten, failing month.

The View from Here – Lettie Mckie

A version of this piece first appeared on Trampset In April, the reality of the pandemic fades into the background as my family deals with our own internal crisis. The house is in Kemsing, a southern English village in the Kent countryside. It is nestled on the slopes of the North Downs, a range of…

My Unsung Sheroes – Susan Moon

Just a spoonful satisfyingly sears on the way down, tickling all the microvilli on its magic school bus trip through the body. A taste so tangy, a flavor so fearless. Anything but diluted, the way I’d always told myself to be.

Some observations concerning the desirability of a new paradigm for medicine

We physicians have never had a clearly defined mission. That mattered less when expectations were lower and we could do less. Now though, the reigning paradigm is grounded in basic science, excessively confident, inpatient-centric, and broadly focused on treatment of symptoms and signs, on diagnosis and therapy. The development of a new medical paradigm seems…

The Piano Man – Rebecca Turner

That night that the piano man and I first slept together was the night we discovered the pleasure of talking aloud about murder.

ONE POEM – Lucy Holme

Unlike a jellyfish, she has a brain but doubts her instinct for survival.
swoop siren, dive under.

ONE POEM – David Linklater

The train leans through
the Highland line, Inverness
to Fearn, wheat either side.
This carriage bows for you.

TranSItion – Seigar

“Ignorance produces hate, knowing is the best way to tackle ignorance, and empathy is the only path to love.”

Failing to Eat a Local Delicacy – Michael O’Mahony

Lorighittas are a type of pasta made in one small village, Morgongiori, on a side of a mountain on the east of Sardinia. Only the women of this village, and only some of them, know how to make lorighittas. A lorighitta is effectively a woven pasta made from a dough of semolina and water. Each…